Marcia Overstrand
by It Smells Like Cinnamon
Summary: We all know the snarky, hilarious Extraordinary Wizard...or do we? Here lies twenty-one things none of us knew about our favorite EOW Marcia Overstrand. (3. Marcia hated bugs. (Especially the ones with millions of little legs)) Some hints at pairings but nothing SERIOUSLY intense. Maybe some kissing or whatever...
1. The 21 things you never knew

**A/N**: Of course, I obviously don't own Septimus Heap, any of the characters, books, ideas, etc. The only thing I can call dibs on is that I made up what happens in this story, as much as I'd love to say I'm Angie Sage. This is basically a list of twenty-one (seven times three, an obviously Magykal number!) things about Marcia Overstrand that no one ever knew. (Probably fake, but of course, you never know…!J) Relax, read, review, rutabaga, (just seeing if you were paying attention!) and just remember: constructive criticism is fine, but flames are just…no. Don't even think about it. I LOVE YOU ALL READ AND ENJOY!

**A/N again: I redid this because, as my profile suggests, I did a horrible job at writing about Marcia and I tried to edit and change it to fit her character. And I found out that I was really bad the second time around, too. So I've decided for a character change; something will have to happen to turn her into the Marcia we all know and love, and until then you can look on at the teenage Marcia who is nothing like her adult self... and mock both me and the story for idiocy. So….**

21 Things You Didn't Know About Marcia Overstrand:

Despite the popular belief that Marcia had been abused as a child, he father had only hit her three times.

There had been a (brief!) time where she had really thought she was in love with Silas Heap.

Marcia _hated_ bugs. (Especially the ones with millions of little legs)

She often thought of Septimus as her child.

She had worked in the Port Witch Coven when she was a teenager.

She was slightly afraid of Alther – and always had been.

She had a niece; a _young_ niece. (Who said she hated children?)

She had a tattoo, a late birthday gift courtesy of Milo Banda.

The sight of blood made her sick.

She admired Merrin Meredith. (Although not as you might expect.)

The Port scared her, especially the alleyways that Septimus liked.

Her hair was secretly blonde; she had **Magykally** changed it to brown when she was eighteen.

She really hated the color purple.

Even though she denied it, she was fascinated by Alchemie.

Her first pair of purple python shoes had been another gift from Milo. (The reason she wore them now.)

Her best friend growing up had been Jillie Djinn, although that was obviously a different matter now.

She had learned **Magyk** first when she had been accidently locked in a cellar.

Her mother was suicidal, although the general public thought she had died in her sleep.

Marcia, despite disliking Maxie, had owned seven dogs throughout her childhood, all named off of different spellings of the letters in "Hotep-Ra."

She disliked theatre; _especially_ puppets.

She was an insomniac and slept only with the help of sleep aids.

**A/N: Oh, yeah, I almost forgot: some of the names and places she's lived I got off Ask Angie (from the Sep Heap website) So if you think I'm ripping somebody else off, chances are they just didn't mention that's where they got it. (Seriously - do you think I have the brains to dream up a name like Trassimma? :) )**


	2. Hit

** 1. Despite the popular belief that Marcia had been abused as a child, her father had only hit her three times.**

She had, Marcia decided, an ugly bedroom.

It wasn't really ugly; that wasn't the word. More like…plain. Or bare.

There was, of course, her bed, pushed into the back corner. And on the back wall was a large, sunny window. Her bureau was along the side wall, next to her desk, and her closet shared a wall with her door. It was all very neat and rather immaculate; Marcia had an eye for perfection.

But something was missing. There were no drapes for the windows. And the wood floors were omitted a rug or two. The paint on her walls was faded and chipped and she thought she'd like to re-do the white with a new color, maybe a brown or a peach.

With this new idea in mind, Marcia skipped out of her room, hair bouncing after her merrily. Clattering downstairs, Marcia paused at the kitchen, where she could see her father's silhouette.

She slipped in silently, unnoticed. Her father's back was to her and he was reading the newspaper.

Her father, Melchior, was a tall, well-built man with an embarrassing blonde comb-over to hide the balding spots on his head. He was pale and had thin, delicate-looking glasses hiding watery brown eyes. His face turned red when he was mad and he spit when he got angry. Her father was a different man when he was cross; he got vicious and awful and scary. Marcia fervently hoped he was in a good mood this morning.

"Morning, Daddy." She greeted sunnily.

Her father looked up from his morning paper, surprised.

"Oh. Hello, Marcie." He gave her a rare smile. "You're up early. Don't most ten-year olds like to sleep in?"

"I'm sure." She agreed, making her way to the icebox and pulling out a jug of orange juice. Grabbing a fresh cup from the cabinet, she carefully poured the glass full and took it back to the table. "But I'm not like most ten year olds."

That was true, at the very least. Her father had raised her in a highly opinionated way; he had drilled so many things so hugely dogmatic into her that Marcia had resulted in a timid, small girl with a lot of unspoken questions.

One of his largest opinions was that **Magyk** was a bogus display of clever little tricks and a get-rich-quick scheme in disguise. He at the very least did not trust it and at most, rather hated it.

This had resulted in her not being allowed to go to one of the regular Castle schools where **Magyk** was taught; she instead went to a small anti-**Magyk** school at the end of the Ramblings, where the teachers had even worse opinions on **Magyk** than her father's, which up until a year ago Marcia had thought impossible.

Marcia ignored her thoughts and focused on the more prominent problem than her lacking knowledge on **Magyk**; her bedroom.

"Daddy," She started nervously. Her father was not one of _those_ people, the kind that who were okay with people disagreeing with their thoughts. She would have to tread carefully.

"Yeah, Marcie?" Her father leaned his paper down against the tabletop with a slight edge; he liked to read his paper in peace and without interruption.

"I was wondering…if…" Marcia smiled at him with as much charm as she could muster. "If we could maybe…redo my room?"

This caught her father's attention.

"What's wrong with your room?" He set his paper down completely.

"Nothing." She backtracked; she had gone too far and she hadn't even started talking. Marcia mentally slapped herself.

"Then why do you want to redo it?" Her father smiled in satisfaction as though the problem was resolved.

"Just…something different, that's all." Marcia said hastily.

"Different?"

"Well, maybe some drapes, or painting my walls…" Suddenly the idea of redoing her room seemed ridiculous and completely senseless.

"Painting the walls? What color?" Her father took a big sip of his coffee.

"Um…peach, maybe…" She mumbled. How embarrassed she felt. Marcia wanted to melt through the floor like a shadow.

"Peach?" Her father looked at her. "You want your room to look like a fruit?"

"It's a pretty color." Marcia whispered.

"It is, eh?" Her father smiled, but it didn't look very nice. "Okay."

"Okay." Marcia repeated doubtfully.

"Marcia, I want you to take a lesson from this." Her father told her.

"Alright." She breathed. Something about her father made her talk quietly, like she should be ashamed.

"The lesson is, don't be greedy." Her father snapped. "You're greedy. Don't change what already works."

"I won't." Marcia felt her eyes watering.

"You will – you always manage to mess it up in the end." Her father disagreed. "But at least now you'll know when I'm disappointed."

"Okay." She trembled. "I won't, Daddy."

"Good." He looked satisfied.

He returned to his paper, ending the conversation.

Her juice turned sour in her mouth and she swallowed with difficulty.

"I'm not greedy." She breathed into her cup. She was sure her father couldn't hear her, but suddenly her head was being jerked upwards and her father was glaring at her. His face was red; that wasn't a good sign.

"What did you say?" He growled.

"No – nothing!" She lied, her voice shaking and her eyes budding fresh tears.

"Don't lie to me." Her father sprayed spit over the table. "_What did you say_?"

"I didn't say anything!" She wailed.

His hand was hot on her face, suddenly a stinging erupted in her left cheek and she screamed.

"Don't. Ever. Lie. To. Your. Father." He spat.

Marcia felt the hand print on her face. "I won't."

His name was Jonas.

He was tall, even taller than Marcia when she wore her highest pair of silver heels. (The ones that gave her awful blisters.) His hair was a light kind of blonde, almost white, like corn-silk in moonlight, just a few shades lighter than her own. His eyes were green; he went to one of the **Magyk** schools in the Ramblings. Jonas's shoulders were large and his chest was huge and he had a handsome face with a broad nose. He was, in every girl's eyes, perfect. He was Marcia's.

Marcia was absolutely smitten with him; after all, what more could a fifteen-year-old teenage girl want more than a gorgeous boyfriend? Her father was not as happy.

"Marcia, have you any shame for dating that buffoon?" That was her father's favorite remark as far as Jonas was involved; he thought that her boyfriend's sculpted face was airbrushed and overly-done and that he was loud and rude. Marcia would give him the same response every time; a dramatic sigh and she would flick her hair behind her shoulder and ignore the comment until the next time her father said it. That was how she operated; ignore it until it comes back around.

Jonas and she often went off on adventures that he would dream up; who could swim the river the most times back and forth, climbing trees on the very edge of the Forest, or trying the new restaurant at the Port out to see if they liked it.  
Tonight they were going to a dance that Jonas's school was hosting; Marcia was in her best blue dress, the one without straps and the knee-brushing hemline, one of the shortest she owned, and her hair was nicely combed and pinned in an elaborate up-do against her head. Jonas was in a blue suit jacket to match her outfit and dark pants.

"You're going to love it, babe." He told her earnestly, taking her arm and pointing towards the blaring, pulsing room.

Marcia was not so sure that she would; she wouldn't know a soul.

"I…yeah." She smiled at him dreamily.

"That dress looks great on you." He told her. "I didn't want to say that in front of your dad."

She laughed. "I don't think you'd be allowed near our house ever again if my father heard someone complimenting me."

"I'd just sneak back." He smiled. "Crawl in through your window."

"Okay." She grinned as they entered the ballroom.

"Oh, wow." Marcia breathed.

Inside was a hue, domed-roof room covered in silver streamers and balloons. Buffet tables lined the walls and what must have been at least a few hundred people were milling around and dancing. Purple sparkles rained from the ceiling, the glimmering effects from the huge essences of **Magyk** used to create the décor. Marcia smiled, breathing deeply; she had only smelled the heady scent of **Magyk** twice in her entire life and craved the smell. She was, however, not prepared for the huge amounts swirling through the room.

"Gah…" She gasped. The smell burned at the back of her throat and settled uncomfortably in her stomach.

"Strong, isn't it?" Jonas laughed and grinned broadly at her. She smiled back automatically; something about his dimple possessed her when he was around her.

"Yeah. I've never been around **Magyk** before." She said breathlessly.

"No!" He looked at her in disbelief. "You're kidding."

"I wish." Marcia smiled at his expression. "My dad hates it. Thinks it's witchcraft."

"You must've used **Magyk** before." Jonas shook his head. "At least once."

"Nope." Marcia said smugly, though she didn't feel a bit smug about it; rather, she was extremely jealous. "My eyes are brown, see?" She gestured at her face.

"Oh, jeez." Jonas looked pained. "Sorry, sorry, sorry."

"For what?" She liked that he was apologizing, even if he had no reason to.

"For dragging you off into all this **Magyk** when your dad doesn't approve. We can leave." He added reluctantly.

"No!" Marcia gasped. "I mean – no, it's okay. We can stay."

"You sure?" He looked hopeful.

"Yeah. Of course." She stammered, flustered. The **Magyk** was settling inside her now and she wasn't dizzy anymore; the horror-story feeling in her gut had dissolved into giddy happiness; **Magyk** just felt _right_. Nothing like the awful classes at her school; even though she had no idea how to perform even the simplest **Magyk**, it felt like she really belonged.

"Come on." Marcia grabbed his hand and pulled. "Let's dance."

"Okay." He seemed surprised at her newfound eagerness. "Yeah – yeah, sure, let's dance."

Grinning now, he led her to the middle of the floor. They danced comfortably for a while, twisting to the fast music and revolving on the spot during the slower numbers. Marcia couldn't remember having any more fun than she was now in her entire life.

"Hey, Marce," Jonas yelled over a thumping, heavily-loud number. Marcia brushed the sticky-with-sweat hairs out of her face.

"Yeah?" She beamed.

"Want to call it a night?" He, on closer examination, was having dark circles growing under his eyes.

"We just got here." Marcia said in confusion.

"No, Marcie." Jonas shook his head. "Look at the clock; over there." He pointed through the steady **Magyk** haze swirling along the ceiling to where the shadowy form of a clock was visible. Marcia didn't even bother to look; she knew she'd never see the numbers without her spectacles and there was no way she'd admit to wearing them.

"I can't see." She yelled over the music. "What's it say?"

"Marcia, it's eleven-thirty; I told your dad we'd be home in thirty minutes."

Marcia cursed.

"Okay, we'd better go." She admitted. "I'm sorry; I completely forgot."

"It's fine." He smiled at her. "I'm a bit worn out anyway; we've been dancing for two hours straight."

Marcia realized he was right and prayed that she didn't look sweaty and that her hair was still nice.

"Alright; let's head off."

The two forced their way through the heavy crowd; Marcia reluctantly trailing behind to enjoy the **Magyk** on her face.

They emerged into the cool night air; the path down Wizard Way was dark and lit only by the few lamps lit every few yards.

"Sorry." Marcia apologized through the silence. "I didn't mean for your dance to be cut short because of me."

"It's not your fault." Jonas said automatically.

"It is." Marcia shrugged. "I just feel bad that you missed the rest of the dance."

"I wouldn't want to be there without you anyway." Jonas said faithfully, and she half-smiled appreciatively at him, grateful that he was so forgiving. She didn't deserve someone as selfless as him.

"But really, you can go back. I don't mind, I'm just walking –" Marcia started.

"Hey," Jonas interrupted. "Don't do that to yourself." He wheedled, taking her hand as they walked quickly down Wizard Way. She liked that; hand-holding was a tricky business but when it was a dark, moonless night and the couple were the only people on the deserted Way, it felt safe.

"Your father will kill us." Jonas shook his head. "But you _are_ fifteen now; shouldn't he trust us a little more?"

"I know." She sighed. She wanted to be mad at how he talked about her father, but she really agreed with his opinions and it was impossible to dispute the logic. "But try telling him that."

"He won't be mad if you ask him for a little freedom." Jonas promised.

"You don't know my father." Marcia said quietly.

"Babe, let me just walk you home and hold your hand and be happy, and we'll talk when we can see the front door of your house, okay?"

"Okay." Marcia agreed. She rested her head on his shoulder as they walked, which felt slightly uncomfortable as his shoulder moved while he walked, but it seemed right and she wanted to be romantic and make up for her bad mood. She closed her eyes and let him guide her along.

They wandered quickly, talking quietly and smiling in the darkness, lit only by the streetlight torches.

Marcia didn't bother to open her eyes and Jonas led her faithfully towards her house until they stopped rather suddenly.

Marcia opened her eyes and groaned out loud; along the dark row of houses stretching in front of them, there was one slice of light that crept up to her toes; and it was coming from the open front door of her house, where her glowering father was holding a lamp.

"Oh, man." Jonas shook his head. "Sorry, Marcie. We're a little late."

"He'll understand." She lied brightly.

"Or he won't and you'll get grounded and I'll get killed." Jonas said glumly, although his prediction wasn't exactly unreasonable.

"He usually only maims; and you're on his good list, so a severe beating might be all for you." Marcia joked darkly.

She stretched up on her toes and pecked his cheek. She reasoned that she would already be in trouble; one kiss wouldn't change anything on the home front.

He laughed. "I love you, Marcia."

"I know." She smiled. "Goodnight, Jonas." She couldn't bring herself to say it back. Not with her father standing twelve yards away.

She walked slowly to where her father stood, dragging out her steps to further put off the intense scolding soon to come. Glancing behind her shoulder in an effort to slow down and play for time, she could see Jonas's shadowy figure disappearing back around the corner.

_But_, Marcia, always logical, decided, _you can only walk so slow for thirty six feet_.

"Where were you?" Her father demanded. "You said you would be home thirty minutes ago."

"Daddy, that's only half an hour." Marcia protested.

"That didn't answer my question." Her father said icily. He shut the door behind him so that they stood alone on the front doorsteps in the dimness, the only source of light coming from his lamp. Marcia recognized it as the one off his nightstand. "I asked you where you were."

"We were at Jonas's party." Marcia said defensively. "We just lost track of time for a bit, that's all."

"How far away was this party?" Her father demanded. "A half-hour away, really?" He dryly squinted at his older daughter.

"It was at his school." Marcia snapped before realizing her fatal mistake. "I mean, we were –"

"His school?" Her father pounced on the opportunity. "A school dance, eh?"

"Yes." Marcia hated how tiny her voice had gotten.

"Doesn't Jonas go to one of those **Magyk** schools?" Her father grinned evilly.

"Yes." Marcia whispered.

"You are no longer permitted to date him." Her father said decisively. "Tomorrow he will be dismissed from your courtship."

"Daddy, no!" Marcia was horrified. "I love him, you can't just make me drop him like a hot potato, I –"

"You're hardly fifteen; you've never experienced real love." Her father scoffed. "You'll move on."

"No, I won't." Marcia said stonily.

"Of course you will." Her father shook his head. "I will not allow him to teach you that utter buffoonery."

Marcia found words quicker than she'd thought she would. "Daddy, you can't make me, we're in love and I'm not breaking up with him; **Magyk** is fascinating and he's never mean and always polite to you even though you're _awful_ to him and –"

"_I will not have some bumbling no-good idiotic __**Magyk**__-support dating my daughter and there is no questions about it go inside before I drag you by your hair_!" Her father yelled. The noise cut through the stillness of the night and Marcia tripped back, horrified.

"Daddy, please." She begged. "Think from my point of view, I love him and I want to stay with him, please don't make me."

"_Enough_!" He yelled. Suddenly his hand was raised and Marcia's right cheek was stinging.

"Come inside when you can think reasonably." Her father snapped, storming back into her house and slamming the door behind him. Marcia sank to the bottom step on their porch, touching her cheek and crying silently. The stinging on her face was fading into a deep kind of numbness, the kind that was taking over her brain and making it so that she could do nothing but sit and cry and ruin her beautiful dress as it powdered itself in dirt left on the step.

The next morning Jonas was gone.

Marcia slipped into her house with a bad feeling in her stomach; she wondered exactly how much trouble a fourteen year old girl caught skipping class could be in. The sickly heavy smell of roast chicken and potatoes hit her; Marcia's stomach swooped and she let out a shuddering breath. Steeling herself, she walked into the dining room, a fake smile that felt like a scowl plastered on her pale face.

"Your teacher stopped by today." Her father said coldly as Marcia sat down to dinner. Brenna, her younger and prettier sister by three years, was looking at her with wide eyes and her mother's chair was empty. That wasn't a good sign; Daddy was always nicer with Momma around. Marcia decided to ignore her father's comment.

"Where is Momma?" She asked, settling her napkin into her lap and spooning a dollop of mashed potatoes onto her thin china plate.

"She is out visiting a shop." Her father said vaguely. Marcia figured he meant she was getting more headache remedies.

Her father stared stonily at her and Marcia focused hard on her sister's face, which looked nervous. Blonde, petite little eleven-year old Brenna. Marcia had never figured out why her father hated her but her parents adored Brenna. Marcia was 80% sure they had never said a harsh word in front of her in Brenna's entire life. Marcia found this positive; her father wouldn't yell if precious little Brenna was around to see.

"Like I said, your teacher called." Her father repeated, slicing viciously into his chicken.

"Oh?" Marcia tried to look politely interested, but inside she was in turmoil, her organs fighting to be the first to crawl up her throat.

"'Oh', yes." Her father glowered. "She would like to know why you skipped class to go to the Wizard Tower, where she saw you on her break."

"Really?" Marcia blurted stupidly, and then blushed. "Yes, I didn't go to class, but that was because I was learning something different."

"Different?" Her father glared. "Something to do with Wizards?"

"Well, yes, Father. That _was_ why I was at the _Wizard Tower_." She couldn't resist the jibe. From the corner of her eye she saw Brenna wince and her father's fingers curl into a fist on the table. Good, let them be shocked.

"What…exactly were you learning?" Her father asked slowly.

"**Magyk**, what else?" She said airily.

Her father stood up abruptly, knocking over his glass of water.

"**Magyk**?" He thundered. "You know that idiocy is just a get-rich-quick scheme with no real substance, dreamt up by some crock-pot fool with no money."

"That's an opinion." Marcia indifferently heaped a pile of chicken onto her plate; she was used to her father's heavy opinions.  
"Go to your room. Now." He demanded. She shrugged.

"Okay." She got up to leave, walking with her chin held high up around her father. Hi hand caught her temple as she marched past him.

"You're never to go back there or there will be consequences." He warned viciously. She looked past him at her sister. Brenna was shaking. Marcia understood well enough why; her father spoiled her, she was sure Brenna had never seen this side of him.

"Consequences?" Marcia held his glare, steady and calm. "You're telling me right now that my happiness is a consequence, did you know that?"

"Excuse me?" Her father spluttered.

"I'm fourteen, for heaven's sake, father!" She yelped. "It's high time long enough I can make my own decisions."

"You will not be rude to me in my own household." Her father insisted.

"Well, I can't be what you want me to be anymore! I don't care about stupid math classes; I want to learn real **Magyk**." Marcia snapped. She knew this was risky and cruel, but she was furious and sick of being told what to do. "Oh, and by the way, next time you hit me I'm going straight to Queen Cerys and insisting you're arrested."

Take that, she thought with satisfaction. She marched up into her room and burst into tears.


	3. Silas

** 2. There had been a (brief!) time where she had really thought she was in love with Silas Heap**.

"Morning, Marcia!"

"Good morning, Arielle, how is Kylie doing?"

"Well enough. I'll tell you, that spell you used for her has fixed that fever right away."

"Glad to hear."

Marcia continued along the Wizard Tower lobby, stopping occasionally to chat with other Wizards. Though she only worked in a small office as an intern on the third floor of the Tower, she had become rapidly popular for her budding Magyk skills, and many had put her in favor to be the next ExtraOrdinary wizard.

She climbed onto whirling staircase with the practiced ease of someone who had (rather embarrassingly) fallen before. Standing between a grumpy, middle-aged Wizard and a grinning Sick Bay Apprentice, Marcia rode, slightly giddy, up to the third floor and leapt gracefully onto the smooth, polished floor. A bit dizzy from the swirling stairs, she purposefully if not crookedly set off towards her office at the end of the hall, wobbling slightly.

She bustled into her office; a small, white-washed room with a large ebony desk that took up almost half of the apartment. There were two plush blue armchairs for other to sit on in front of her desk; behind stood her comfortable navy chair, rickety but familiar.

Her paperwork was exactly as she had left from last night, a neat pile waiting to be finished for Hugh Fox. This was her job, as it had been for almost three years now; to write calculations and send them to the Manuscriptorium. She busily pulled her onyx pen from its pot in the corner of her desk and sat to start scratching down numbers. A long, quiet hour passed, where Marcia studiously wrote the same designs over and over on pages of thin parchment. This continued while she was debating back and forth over the cramps in her hand and wishing that she wasn't as good as she was in math so that she could stop the calculating.

"Why," She asked herself a trifle impatiently, "Did I ever think that working in the Wizard Tower like this would be rewarding?"

Her answer knocked on her door.

"Oh, come in." She called, glad for an excuse not to be writing. _She was only twenty years old, for crying out loud_, she told herself._ Why was she stuck in a tiny office_?

The Answer to Her Question opened the door.

"Mr. Mella!" She gasped, standing quickly. She dropped her pen on the table, where it knocked over her inkpot and splattered across the last fourteen pages of work she had _just_ finished, not to mention down the front of her robes.

"Bother it all!" She muttered crossly, turning crimson with embarrassment as she realized what she had just said in front of the ExtraOrdinary Wizard. Alther Mella smiled.

"Allow me, my dear." He flicked his fingers once and the ink flew back into its pot, which corked itself and retreated to the corner of the desk. Marcia stared in slight awe as a small fizz of purple Magyk dissipated on her desktop.

"Thank you, Mr. Mella." She said formally. Alther Mella laughed companionably.

"Just call me Alther, dear, and please take a seat."

If anyone else had told her to take a seat in her own office she would have laughed and told them to _go bother someone else as she had very important things to finish thank you very much_. But coming from Alther, sitting down in her own chair sounding completely wonderful and enthralling. She sat, in awe of the pure Magyk radiating from Alther's purple robes.

She reverently wished that one day she would wear those robes and be ExtraOrdinary Wizard; after all, Alther didn't have an Apprentice yet and she would readily take the spot.

"So, as you know I've been looking high and low for an Apprentice for some time now." Alther said, sitting himself in one off the armchairs. Marcia leaned forwards. _Yes_….

"And I think I might have finally found one." Alther finished. Marcia didn't know how to react; it was as if her entire body had frozen. Was she supposed to smile? Or maybe nod, act humble? Or scream and jump and hug him?

"Oh?" She forced herself to stay pleasant.

"Yes and I'd very much like you to meet him."

_ What?!_

Marcia very nearly choked. Her smile froze on her face but she could feel it crumbling. Tears snagged the back of her eyelids. _Why hadn't Alther chosen her_?

"Silas!" Alther called out the door. A boy obligingly hurried into the room.

_Oh_. That was why.

Marcia had never liked the scruffy type; for the short time she had dated Jonas, she had really admired how clean-cut he was. Sloppy just wasn't her style. But Silas was rather different.

His hair was a rat's nest; tangled, straw-colored curls bounced along his forehead and curved in smooth ringlets almost all the way past his chin. His eyes were clear and green and fringed in long lashes, but were sunk slightly and had purple shadows under them. His green robes of the ExtraOrdinary Wizard Apprentice were synched in place with the gleaming belt that Marcia had always imagined herself wearing, but the sleeves had a stain on the hems and the front was wrinkled. Marcia fought the urge to wrinkle her nose. Who was he to take her place?

The feeling didn't last long. She saw at first glance that he was wrinkled and untidy, but the look seemed to fit. It was more…outdoors-y and looked nice. Marcia decided, against her inner envy, to give him a chance.

"Hi." She said, making her voice as warm as she could through the layer of frost she was imagining on her throat. "Welcome to the Wizard Tower."

"Thanks." He smiled at her. "Silas Heap. Nice to meet you." That sounded slightly rehearsed to her; like he had said the same thing to a million other people. Marcia didn't like that; she knew she was going to stand out and being addressed as just another person made her ego twitch.

"Marcia Overstrand." She said, slightly more tightly. His eyes widen slightly and then resumed their almond shape. She liked _that_ look; she knew her name was imposing and large, it sounded important. It intimidated people. She liked that, too. Seventeen years in the household of her father had taught her to be tough and imposing. She was going to live up to the challenge, especially with this new boy who had taken her rightful place. 

"Hello, Silas." Marcia greeted. She hated the way her voice sounded when he was around her. He let himself into her office.

"Hey, Marcie." He plopped into the thicker armchair, which Marcia was staring to think of as his.

"_Don't_ call me that." She flared. Good, her voice sounded normal for a second. He sat back, lacing his long fingers behind his head.

"Why not?" He smiled; sure he had her in the trap of his handsome face. And even though she was, there was _no way_ she'd ever let him know that.

"Because. Ex-boyfriend thing." She confessed. He nodded; pleased with the effect he was having on her.

"Ah." He agreed. "So whose heart did you break?" _Cheeky little dillop_.

"Aren't you here for a reason?" Marcia prompted him. She couldn't make herself be angry with him as hard as she tried.

"Oh, right." He sat back up in his chair and blushed. She fought back the urge to smile and lost.

"Here, you dillop." She fished around her desk for the stack of paperwork he had come for. This was a weekly ritual now; he would come or the paperwork she dutifully filled out, bring it to Alther, and next week he would return for the next batch. Marcia didn't especially like routines; everything was too predictable and there wasn't anything to learn or do. But this? This routine she was just fine with.

"How's everything going, Silas?" She asked casually, rifling through the heavy stacks of pressed parchment stacked neatly on her desk. "With the Apprenticeship, I mean."

"Great." He said shortly. After years of waiting for her father to explode, she had learned body language well. And his tone of voice was suggesting that everything was not 'great'.

Despite herself and her vow to be happy for him, she could feel a small wormhole of satisfaction.

"Why just great?" She asked. "Aha, here they are." She handed him a tidy pile of papers secured with a binder clip. Their hands brushed and she felt a bolt of electricity travel up her heart.

"It's hard to explain." Silas shrugged. "But I'd bet you'd understand." He blushed as he realized what he'd just said. Marcia was sure her own cheeks were brighter.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." He tucked the papers under his arm. "Oh, and Marcia?"

She looked up from her desk. "Yes?"

"Thanks."

"See you next week." Marcia smiled in answer.

She liked to be some kind of strong, confident person, but something about Silas Heap was turning her to jelly.

"You know, Alther will kill me for this." Silas mused. "But I really couldn't care less."

"You couldn't?" Marcia smiled, giddy. They sat together, boots pulled off and socks tucked inside, tunics pulled above their knees. Marcia kicked her feet, loving the way they swished under water and the bubbles that rose towards her like little secret smiles.

"Nah. I kind of like this." Silas told her. He shifted slightly so that he could face her better. "Sure beats sitting in an office, huh?"

"Not unless you were here." She told him, and then blushed. Had that really just come out of her mouth? She had sworn to herself that she wouldn't act like a giggly schoolgirl when they walked to the Palace Landing Stage and sat with their feet in the water, but she was already breaking her promise.

"Hey, Marcie?" Silas looked at the swirling water under their toes. Their skin looked green through the cloudy water and Marcia wiggled her toes, liking the way the water curved around the spaces between them.  
"Yeah, Silas?" She looked up at him now; the sun turned his curls a glittering golden color and his robes a deep emerald. She looked at her own blue Ordinary Wizard tunic and saw that the sun only maid it, well, more ordinary. Marcia sighed and leaned back on her elbows, her head tipped lazily back to the sun. Silas lightly traced the side of her face with one gentle finger, tugging playfully at her dark curls.

"Marcie?" He asked again. She laughed and then wished she hadn't. _Forgetful, much_?

She had well given up on him calling her Marcie; she couldn't bring herself to explain why it reminded her of Jonas and he wouldn't stop anyways.

"Would it be alright if I held your hand?" He turned faintly pink, but looked back at her.

"I would say so. Very much I would say so." She agreed, watching their fingers as they twined together. The sun lazily shone down on them. It was, Marcia reflected, a very good moment.

She had thought she had really known what it was to love someone when she had dated Jonas, but she was wrong; very wrong. She had thought love was staying at the cinema too late, chocolates and roses left on her desk. It wasn't like that.

Love was holding a boy's hand when they sat with their feet in the water.

_Wait, what_?

She sat up fast, falling forward until she teetered on the edge of the dock. Silas grabbed her by her elbows and pulled her back gently. He looked over her, concerned. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She lied. _No_. No, no, no, no; she was not in love. _Especially_ not with the boy who took _her_ Apprenticeship. No, no, no. Marcia had sworn – sworn! – To herself that she wasn't going to do this again and act like a ditzy little girl. Absolutely not.

_ Who was this girl and what had she done with the real Marcia_? Marcia wondered faintly. Silas looked at her intently.

"Marcie?"

She wouldn't be able to deny it if he called her that again. She refused to give in; she wasn't going to like Silas Heap, even if that meant avoiding him at all costs. Why hadn't she realized this sooner?

"Silas, I-I have to go, okay?" She stood up. The easy grin slipped off Silas's face, replaced by worry.

"Marcie? Are you sure you're okay?"

"Fine!" She said a little too brightly. She wavered slightly, trying hard to keep her hand from shaking as she lightly extracted it from his. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay." He agreed doubtfully. She turned to go, grabbing her boots by the laces and telling herself that she did _not like Silas Heap like that_.

"I love you, Marcie." He said suddenly, as she turned to go. She nearly dropped her boots in the water and instead hurried away without responding. She choked slightly; mad at herself, so angry. Furious because Marcia was independent, she never needed a boy and loved that. Indignant that he had said that to her even though she wasn't ready to say it back. (Though the logical part in her brain reasoned that he would have no way to know that.)

And most of all, infuriated at herself for so desperately wanting to say it back to him.

"Hi, Marcia." Silas entered her office quietly. She looked up, smiling as usual at the sound of his voice before remembering. Oh, right. She cursed under her breath, turning her head so he couldn't see.

It had been almost a half a year since Marcia had got up and walked away from the Palace Landing Stage when he had said the three fateful words. Ever since then, the weekly office ritual was awkward and uncomfortable; Marcia fervently wished that they could be like before. Before the kisses and hand-holding and various Castle visits. Anything to make the forced visits less unbearable.

"Hi, Silas." She greeted. "How's Alther?"

"Fine." He said curtly. "We're both fine."

If this was meant to be a challenge, Marcia studiously ignored it. "Here's your paperwork." She said calmly, handing him a thick stack of papers. He took it quietly.

"Thanks."

"Yep." She turned back to the calculations she was totaling.

"Marcia?" Silas asked inelegantly. She refused to look up.

"Mmm?" She cursed quietly as her pen died. She scribbled a few loose swirls on the edge of her hand and smiled when the ink cut across her skin. She continued writing while Silas watched.

"I've got a girlfriend." He said suddenly. Marcia fought the heavy urge to gape and snap her head up. _What_?

"That's great. Congratulations." She said, slightly dryly, trying her hardest to control the tremors in her voice. He didn't seem to notice, instead, fiddling with his curls, he mumbled, "I just thought you should know."

"Why?" She looked up for the first time; she loved to hear the scathing in her own voice. She wasn't exactly saying she liked to be mean, but she hadn't been in control of her emotions and now she was back and better than ever. And she was going to show that to Silas one way or another.

"Well, just because…" Silas looked unsure. "Back when…."

"Unfortunately, I don't know what gibberish you're speaking of, but I can assume that whoever the girl is will be very happy." Marcia said coolly.

"Her name is Sarah." Silas said quietly. Marcia felt a pang go through her chest.

Sarah. It suddenly seemed to be the most beautiful thing to be named Sarah and to be the girlfriend.

"I'm glad for you, Silas." She sighed.

"See you next week, then." Silas said awkwardly, not sure if she was dismissing him or not.

"See you." She said airily. Silas left uncertainly, clutching his papers, and Marcia frowned, upset.

Six months ago he had said that he loved her. She wouldn't have dreamt Silas would be so soon to move on…she knew she certainly wasn't ready. It hurt to be dumped like a dirty sock found at the edge of the Moat.

Sarah. One day she could possibly even be Sarah Heap.

Marcia was not one to cry, but that didn't mean she hadn't wasted her best handkerchief in her office over Silas-no-good-Heap. She cursed.

She thought after him, pretending he could hear. _And to think that I loved you once_.


	4. Bugs

**A/N: Time for a boring author's note. I did take some scenes from the book - I don't own them or anything, and I changed them a bit; added or switched stuff around so it fit the chapter a little better. So thanks to all of you who reviewed, it meant a lot. Read, on, guys!**

**3. Marcia ****_hated_**** bugs. (Especially the ones with millions of little legs and those awful spiders – even though she knew they weren't really bugs)**

When she had fallen in the mud when she was six years old, she had not expected to swallow the beetle.

She had been running at full speed, showing off for Brenna, when she had suddenly tripped and gone flying into the mud puddle. That hadn't necessarily been the problem; the issue was the bug now sitting in her stomach. Marcia had felt increasingly sick as she sat, sobbing, in the puddle of sopping dirt.

"You're okay." Her mother had soothed, scooping her out of the puddle. Marcia had shuddered uncontrollably; she could imagine the feeling of little feet crawling back up her throat.

Her mother had taken her home, cleaned her up, done everything a mother was supposed to do. But Marcia had still been violently upset; _there was a bug inside her_.

From then on had fueled her hatred of insects.

If there was one thing that she couldn't stand even more than her contrary coffee pot, it was bugs, Marcia decided.

And that was the reason that she lingered in Zelda-Blasted-Heap's kitchen, hoping desperately that she wouldn't have to be the one to do this next task.

"Are you quite sure, Zelda?" She checked again. She hoped her cheeks weren't pale. "That we need that many?"

"Fifty at least, yes." Zelda said dismissively. "It shouldn't be a problem to find them, if that's what you're worried about. There are plenty around the island."

"That's what I suspected." Marcia darkly muttered.

"Right, off you go, then." Zelda stood up heavily, her blundering mainly caused by the awful patchwork dress she was wearing.

"Fifty bugs." Marcia muttered disgustedly as she picked her way out of the warm cabin into the muggy, damp Marsh Island surrounding the tiny house. "_Fifty infernal bugs_."

She reluctantly bent down, crouching on the nauseatingly squishy ground. Careful of her beautiful new purple pythons, and sweeping her cloak up so that it wouldn't touch the ground, Marcia felt through the grass. Nothing.

She tried again with the same results.

She was already immensely irritated; Zelda had said bug-catching was easy, but there wasn't a single beetle in sight of her sparse area of ground. Marcia knew that was a bit shallow, but honestly; when did Zelda ever expect that Marcia had ever been bug-catching before, or even knew how to do it?

Ten minutes of stomping and struggling around the island later, when Marcia was angrily yanking her foot out of a stupid rabbit hole near the rock she was looking under, a sudden movement caught her eye.

A flash of black, dull against the grass, scuttled towards her. Her first impulse was to step on it, or get out of its way, but steeling herself, Marcia plucked the beetle from its perch on the ground.

She could feel its disgusting little legs propelling against the inside of her palm as she closed her hand around it.

She could only bear to hold it for about ten seconds.

"Argh!" She yelped, throwing back down and tripping backwards from the spot it landed. It disappeared back into the grasses, leaving a winded Marcia cursing at her palm and fear of insects.

"Bother it all." She snapped. She wondered why she didn't know a spell for **Summoning** bugs; then again, she never really thought she'd need one.

Another flash of movement stole her attention; thankfully, this one wasn't on the ground and it wasn't black. It was red and bobbling among the tall weeds and grasses.

Marcia started towards it, fairly certain that she'd found the solution to her bug problem.

It took a good amount of minutes to find the flash of red again as it wove and disappeared through Zelda's fields of high, rough weeds that came up nearly to Marcia's chest. If she squinted, she could almost see her shoes, let alone a red speck a hundred feet away.

"For goodness sake, Zelda; cut your lawn." She hissed to herself, tripping over a particularly tough bramble.

The red was suddenly in front of her, well enough to make out what was underneath it. So she had been right; it was in fact Boy 412.

"Hello." She smiled at him pleasantly and he stared at her like she was an alien. She talked to him for a couple of moments, trying to put him at ease, but his blank stare was creepy and the fact that he didn't talk was a little eerie.

She finally cut to the point. "How good are you at catching bugs?"

It took a moment, but he finally nodded, looking like a cornered mouse stuck in front of a hawk, like he was about to be preyed on. Marcia had no intentions of torturing the poor boy; all she needed was someone else to grab the squirmy, disgusting insects crawling all over the blasted island.

"Good." She said, satisfied. _Problem solved_.

When Marcia first saw the bite on her newly-appointed Apprentice's thumb, she cringed. And Marcia definitely didn't _do_ cringing.

She wouldn't have liked to meet the spider that had delivered _that_.

Septimus, to his credit, didn't look very afraid; more mystified than anything as he stared at the rapidly-swelling green thing that was his thumb.

"That's a _spider_ bite." Marcia sympathized darkly, rummaging through the medicine cabinet until she produced a tube of **Spider Balm**. Disgusting little spiders with their hairy legs and the awful bugs they ate. Gross.

Marcia frowned at the young boy's thumb; honestly, how did Septimus manage to _find_ trouble like this? It was like he was a magnet for bad things to happen to.

Marcia decided this one looked bad as Septimus's thumb started to streak with purple. He swayed slightly and Marcia upended the entire **Balm** tube on the little puncture marks.

"Ouch!" Septimus objected loudly, yanking away his thumb.

"Shhh." Marcia chided. "Stop yelling, Septimus. I'm right here, you know."

"Sorry." He muttered balefully. Marcia steadied the impatient retort balanced on her tongue and swallowed it back; Septimus despised spiders as much as she did, even if he wouldn't admit it. She'd seen him screech like a child when he was clearing the Library on his first day and seen the first spider. The memory was one he didn't know she had but she treasured it as another relation she had with her Apprentice – their dislike of bugs. Little did Marcia know that Septimus did not actually mind the insects after ten years in the Young Army, but she still enjoyed the feeling of a shared hatred for crawlers.

"I don't like the look of that at all." She muttered worriedly. "Sit down, sit down."

"Why," She mumbled, turning back to the cabinet for her next trial remedy, "Is it that every time a bug-related issue appears, you happen to be involved?" Although she didn't mention that he was often the solution, like last summer in that awful marsh when he had caught her fifty-nine bugs.

"I don't know." He looked vaguely upset from his mentor's mulish attitude. "I don't mean to be."

Marcia softened at his small, boyish face; he was a little small, a little scrawny for his age, and looked hopelessly lost. "Of course you didn't mean to be." She agreed, pulling out the Spider Venom.

She could see it on his face that he thought she was crazy.

"But that's poison!" He protested, leaning away from the poised dropper.

"There's a **Darkenesse** in that bite," Marcia grimly held the dropped away from her cloak; this one was new and she didn't want it spoiled, as it had just been trimmed in indigo mink fur and she was very proud of it. "And the **Spider Balm** is making it worse. Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. Or, er, poison with poison."

He looked at her doubtfully.

"Trust me." She willed.

He looked at her with the exact same expression of disbelief and slight fear that he had worn the first time he'd ever seen her, a year ago in her sitting room. She wanted him to trust her; he looked like a cornered animal and she wanted him to calm down a little. HE seemed to be thinking; something in his gaze changed suddenly and he nodded.

"Okay," He hesitantly held out his thumb and Marcia carefully dripped venom down onto it. For a second she thought she had just made it worse and started off a rapid **Anti-Hex Incantation**, murmuring the words faster than she had thought she could, and watched with growing relief as the finger deflated back to its normal size.

"Stupid spider." Septimus muttered, examining his finger with awe. "Thanks, Marcia!"

"You're welcome." She smiled at him warmly.

Septimus stood up and grinned broadly at her, a rare smile that hadn't seen very often.

"Off you go then." She dismissed. "It's time you spent a day with your family. And while you're there, you can remind your mother to make sure Jenna gets off to Zelda's tomorrow for her MidSummer Visit to the Dragon Boat. If I had my way she would have left days ago, but Sarah will insist on leaving everything to the last minute. I'll see you tonight, Septimus – midnight at the latest. And the chocolate **Charm** is yours, by the way."

"Oh, thanks." Septimus looked a little surprised but he smiled anyways. "But I'm fine now, really. I don't need a day off."

He was an honest boy for only eleven, a much harder worker than he probably should have been, Marcia thought. She gave him a rare smile.

"Yes, you do." Marcia instructed, fondly watching him start towards the door. "Go on then, off you go."

"Alright then." He looked pleased. "I'll be back by midnight." He turned and was halfway out the door when Marcia noticed a glint of light.

She traced it back to a glimmer of glass and Marcia saw with dawning horror that her Apprentice had left his jar of spiders.

"_Septimus_!"

"Kill it!"

"Why?"

"Because it's disgusting, that's why. Get rid of it, quick!"

"It's just a wasp in a jar, Marcia." Septimus hefted the jar a bit higher so that Marcia could clearly see the angrily buzzing insect stuck inside.

"I don't care _what_ it is; I want it out of my kitchen." Marcia instructed. Septimus kneeled in front of her refrigerator, sorting through the shelves while patiently avoiding her order.

"It will be." Septimus assured her. "I'm doing training with Spit Fyre today though and I just need a…"

He trailed off as he started to dig through her vegetable drawer. "There it is! I need an onion."

"_Why_," Marcia asked, not quite sure if she wanted to know the answer, "Does training that infernal dragon require an evil insect and a three-day-old onion?"

"Because," Septimus told her, standing back up and sealing the fridge, "We're doing small, moving-target **Fyre** practice and Spit Fyre already hits all the tennis balls I throw him, so this is the smallest thing I could think of."

"So why an onion?" Marcia was trying hard not to look at the angrily buzzing wasp, which was now throwing itself against the sides of the jar.

"Because after he hits anything, Spit Fyre tries to eat it." Septimus explained patiently. "So I wondered if it tasted bad, like a burnt onion, if he would stop eating it."

"Oh." Marcia said, at a loss for anything to say. The wasp seemed to be glaring at her now. She frowned back when Septimus was turned around.

"Yeah, but I don't know if it'll work as Spit Fyre doesn't really notice what he's eating anymore as long as he's eating it." Septimus said thoughtfully. "I don't know what I'll do about that."

"Glue his mouth shut." Marcia suggested.

"Marcia." Septimus shook his head and despite herself Marcia grinned.

"At least that way I won't have to listen to his obnoxious snoring when I'm trying to sleep – and when he eats, that noise he makes is _revolting_, it really isn't a bad solution to shut him up." She told him.

"Oh, he's not that bad." Septimus defended. He turned around to grab his onion off her marble counter and to her absolute horror Marcia saw his sleeve catch the wasp jar.

"No!" She gasped as the jar shattered on her cleanly-swept floor.

"Oh!" Septimus stumbled backwards. "Marcia – I'm so sorry, I'll sweep it up, I swear."

"Honestly, Septimus." She sighed. "I have told you a million times at least to watch your surroundings; you've gotten so clumsy lately."

"Sorry, sorry, sorry." He muttered while searching for the broom in her cupboard. Marcia sighed.

"Never mind, Septimus. I'll get it." She snapped her fingers loudly – a talent she'd always been rather good at – and instructed to her broom and dust pan; "**Clean**!"

It wasn't until the last shards of glass were being poured down the rubbish chute that Marcia realized.

"Septimus." She said slowly. "Where on earth did that awful wasp go?"

Septimus paled. "I – I don't know."

"Find it." Marcia instructed. She pushed a strand of dark hair out of her face.

"I will." Septimus nodded.

"_Now_."

"It's just a wasp." Septimus protested, though he dutifully started searching the counter.

"It's a repulsive insect in my kitchen." Marcia told him. "I don't care if it's 'just a wasp', it will not be in my rooms."

She knew this might be a little dramatic, but she decided not to worry about it; better to make a fuss and get it out than to have it trail her later.

Marcia sat calmly at her spot at the table while Septimus hunted through her kitchen. A prickly, scuttling feeling was dawning on her and she resisted the urge to wipe her forehead, which was being overcome with a strange pattering sensation.

It wasn't..._there was no way it had landed on her_.

"Septimus." She talked slowly, careful not to move her face.

"Yeah?" He didn't look up from where he was looking in the coffeepot.

"Please tell me _it is not on my face_."

Now Septimus looked up with dawning horror, but Marcia saw him suppressing a smile.

"Get. It. Off." She snapped.

"Okay." He grinned openly now, carefully cupping a hand over her temple. She, to her immense relief, could feel it's disgusting feet crawling off her; repressing the urge to shudder she sat like a statue until Septimus had safely scooped the wasp off her.

"It's just a wasp, Marcia." He repeated, stuffing the bug into a new jar.

"Don't ask, Septimus." She said wearily, though with growing satisfaction she watched the captured wasp bounce around in the jar.

It waved its legs at her, its stinger flashing menacingly.

"I'll be off, then." Septimus looked distinctly relieved and uncomfortable at the same time.

"Have fun. Good luck." Marcia told him. "Be back by two in the afternoon, no later."

"Okay." He nodded, already out the door, taking the stupid wasp with him.

Marcia felt her forehead with growing repugnance.

She _really_ hated bugs.

**A/N: Double disclaimer - like I said before, I used some slightly-modified scenes from the book. So I don't own anything. Twice. Just so you can't report me :) Besides, if I did own this (That would be fantastic, but sadly it's only a dream) Romilly and Partridge would be married or something already because they are so stinking adorable. (And that, my dear friends, is why I don't drink Red Bull when I'm writing - teenage marriages are sure to occur.) **

**Thanks again, guys and gals!**


	5. Child

**A/N: Hello, lovelies! It's yet another chapter, this one with an unfortunately long wait for an unfortunately mashed chapter...went on vacation with five other girls - that can be a bit of a problem when there's no time (or Wi-Fi!) to update. And then it was finished at one in the morning. And revised at about six, right before swim practice. And then, and then, and then...I could give you excuses for days and days. But I'm not THAT cruel...just read the chapter.  
:)**

**4. She often thought of Septimus as her child**.

Marcia sighed in irritation; her Apprentice should've been up ten minutes ago. Climbing up the stone steps leading to his room, she let herself in unceremoniously.

"Septimus, it's time to get up." She stood in his doorway and let her eyes adjust to his dark room. The painted constellations had recently been painted over with glittery paint (Septimus at first had been highly opposed to what he called the 'girly stuff' until she'd shown him how it made the constellations shine like real stars) and shone through the darkness of his room. The only light source was the strip of golden sunlight peeking out from under the edge of his heavy, tightly-drawn curtains.

"Septimus." She repeated. She could just make out his small form, curled on the very center of the bed amongst the huge tangle of sheets surrounding him.

"Burgh." He rolled over from the nest of quilts so that his face was buried in his pillow. "A few mor' miniddes."

"Now, Septimus." She sighed.

"I'm geddin up, Marzia, really yam." He mumbled into his pillow. She suppressed a smile; the thirteen-year-old boy strongly reminded her of herself when she had been living with Alther.

"Septimus," She shook her head. "If you aren't downstairs in five minutes I will be forced to cancel your **Charm** lessons today."

"I'm getting up!" He insisted, sitting up slowly. She wasn't sure if she was amused or irritated by the state of his hair; it was certain that he wouldn't brush it, and she didn't want it to look like such a, well, mess.

"Down in five minutes." She reminded, leaving his room and returning to the kitchen, where the stove was desperately trying to get itself lit and the coffee pot was unaware that is was dripping coffee onto her cleanly-swept tile floor.

"Porridge." She snapped at the stove, flicking her fingers irritably. Marcia was never at her best in the mornings, especially not when she noticed the coffee spill dripping from her newest pair of purple python shoes.

"Sweet coffee. Strong. Now." She crossly told the pot, which obediently started to scoop ground coffee into its filter, starting to make the second batch of the morning. The pot sighed to itself as it jostled to make her coffee. Why couldn't his Master ever just want the first pot of coffee it made? It was always the same as she ordered. Sweet and strong, yet she always made him redo it. That was stressing on a coffeepot, to have to make coffee twice in the same ten minutes.

Marcia, blissfully unaware of the coffeepot's anxiety, was counting slowly down the minutes until her Apprentice could be bothered to show up.

"I'm here." As if on cue, Septimus skidded into the kitchen, slipping in the coffee spill and righting himself just before he was destined to fall into her sink.

"Is your comb here with you?" Marcia looked up from trying in vain to get the coffee off the toe of her expensive shoe. "Honestly, Septimus, brushing that nest you call hair wouldn't hurt every once in a while."

"I brushed it." He defended, reaching past her to retrieve the milk from its spot on the table.

"When?" She scoffed, filling her faded purple mug with hot coffee, careful not to spill any on her robes.

"Last week." He muttered. She smiled in victory and he blushed.

"It looks fine." He grumbled in embarrassment, sitting next to her. Marcia smiled at his disheveled figure – he had really taken her threat seriously. It was more than obvious that he had thrown on his clothes without looking, considering that he had put his tunic on backwards.

"Septimus," She sighed into her porridge, "Are you aware that your clothes are on the wrong way?"

"What?" He looked down in surprise. "Oh, they are."

"Yep." Marcia remarked dryly.

"Thanks, Marcia. I'll go change." He stood, abandoning his half-eaten porridge. Marcia listened to his clatter up the stairs and sighed, leaning over her coffee.

"It's going to be a long day." She told the stove. She finished her porridge quietly and dropped the purple bowl into the sink, where the faucet and sponge started working intently on the syrup still stuck to the sides of the dish.

"_Marcia_!" Septimus's voice drifted down the stairs.

"Yes?" She yelled back.

"Have you seen my white socks? The ones with the green on the heel?"

"No, I haven't." Marcia called, slightly irritated. How did he lose his best pair of socks _already_? She had only given them to him three days ago.

"Oh….I think I found them!"

"He thinks?" She rolled her eyes at her coffee mug.

"Wait – those are the wrong ones." This comment obviously wasn't directed at her, but Marcia could still hear Septimus talking to himself; she would really have to tell him one of these days that the air vents carried sound, especially his voice when he was chatting with himself. Though she usually found this habit annoying she smiled; leave it to Septimus to do something interesting before she had even done her hair.

"Marcia, are you sure you didn't see my socks?" Septimus yelled down.

"I'm completely sure, Septimus. Honestly, what am I, your mother?" She reproached.

That statement seemed oddly fitting. Although Marcia would never dream of actually having kids – way too much work she couldn't finish as ExtraOrdinary – she figured she kind of was the mother figure.

After all, she fed him and had his clothes washed and he lived with her. Wasn't that sort of what mothers did?

This thought distracted her enough so that when Septimus came back down in his extra pair of brown socks she didn't scold him, or even remind him that she wanted his _awful_ _hair combed out by tonight_.  
"Alright, Marcia." He cleared his uneaten porridge to the sink. "I'm off to go get those **Charms** you wanted from the Manuscriptorium."

"Fine, go ahead." Marcia nodded, still holding her unfinished coffee. "But don't dawdle today – none of that disgusting soda stuff with Beetle."

"Okay." He shrugged, though she could see he was disappointed and a bit surprised – she had never told him she knew he drank the gross **FizzFroot** stuff. Honestly, though, it was a bit too obvious, in Marcia's opinion, when he came back in a sugar rush with the blue drink staining his lips. She would need to teach him how to be a better liar if he ever wanted to be the ExtraOrdinary – but she'd wait to do that until the _end_ of his Apprenticeship.

"And don't even think about having one of those ridiculous sled races in the Ice Tunnels." She lectured. "It's immature and goodness knows Beetle has better things to do than amuse you."

"Alright, alright, call off the cavalry." Septimus smiled at her. "I'll be back in an hour."

"Thirty minutes." She abridged. He shook his head in mock defeat, smiling.

"Whatever. Half an hour, then." Septimus started off towards the door. "See you soon, Mu – Marcia."

He left and Marcia absently finished her coffee.

Mu-.

Had he been about to call her 'Mum'?

Marcia told herself to stop being silly. Of course he hadn't; he already had a mother living at the Palace. But a part of her brain was nagging at her, too – after all, he had known her way before he'd known Sarah Heap; she'd earned his trust way sooner and for Heavens' sake, she had _saved his life_ when he was ten. And he never really did have the time to get to know his mother; he'd gone straight to live with her and only saw Sarah every few days. In a way, it sort of made sense that he'd think of her as his mother.

That was a weird feeling; she knew she was being stupid, at this point.

"Marcia." She told herself. "That boy has a mother and you wouldn't want to be his mother anyhow, or indeed, anyone's mother. Snap out of it."

This was to the delight of her kitchen appliances, who were convinced that Marcia talked to herself but had never had any living proof to fuel their many debates over the topic like they did now.

Marcia retired back to her study for a long day of paperwork sent by the ever-annoying Jillie Djinn, which she had been purposely ignoring for a week now just to annoy the woman.

That was when she first started to think of Septimus as her son.

* * *

Marcia was getting more and more irritated with her stupid pen. The pen was a nice onyx thing, one that changed the color of its ink if you asked it nicely, but today no matter how kind Marcia forced her voice to go to the dumb thing was stuck on a permanent color that greatly resembled baby vomit.

"Bother it all." She spat, tossing the offending pen back onto her desk. It teetered on the edge for a second before falling to the floor. Marcia didn't bother to retrieve it.

Today was the one day of the year that every ExtraOrdinary dreaded; the twenty-first or the seventh month. And it was completely taxing Marcia's patience.

On this day, everyone in the Tower was given a slip of paper and they were allowed to write either one compliment or one complaint on the Wizard Tower. These would be sent to the ExtraOrdinary, who would spend the entire day locked in the study reading through them all and revising every one of the problems (that they could, anyway).

Usually it was an even mix of complaints and compliments, as it had been during Alther's time as EOW when Marcia had organized the papers for him into two different stacks of Good and Bad. But this time, _everyone_ was choosing complaint.

"Why," She asked herself angrily as she tossed one of the more elderly Wizard's complaints into the RESOLVED bucket, "Do I care if the Wizard on his left side at the annual Wizard Tower Chess Club meetings smells like roast beef?"

And then, after a distracted moment of thinking, "And that's a complaint? You get to change one thing throughout the entire year if you're lucky and you choose to _switch who you sit next to at your chess club_?"

Fourteen complaints later and one compliment on a Wizard's next door neighbor on the tidiness of her closet, Marcia was awfully relieved to hear the knocking at the door. Thank goodness; Septimus was back from that awful crockpot Marcellus's house.

"Come on in, Septimus." She called, relaxing slightly. The door opened and Marcia's chagrin came back and slammed into her like a wave.

"What?" She demanded, not bothering to be polite. Couldn't she see Marcia was busy?

"Hello, Madam Marcia." Sarah Heap edged her bulk into Marcia's study, much to her annoyance.

"Hello, Sarah." Marcia sighed. Sarah coming for a visit could only mean bad news, in her opinion.

"I've come to tell you that Nicko's birthday is coming up and I'd thank you to let my son have the day off so he can attend the party." Sarah Heap pursed her lips defiantly. Oh, Marcia thought wryly, _there_ was the bad news. Yet another demand from Sarah Heap was the last thing she needed.

"Sarah, I'd be very happy to discuss this later but at the moment I have absolutely no time to talk and you are not helping the situation." Marcia hated when Sarah came over to tell her what to do with Septimus. There wasn't really a successful way Marcia had come up with yet to tell her no; after all, Sarah was his real mum and she couldn't ignore that he had a family.

"What's to discuss?" Sarah demanded. "Yes or no?"

Marcia closed her eyes to fend off her mounting annoyance.

"What day?"

"What do you mean, what day?" Sarah looked surprised.

"I mean, what day is the party so that I can give him time off?"

"Oh." Sarah suddenly looked uncomfortable. "We haven't decided yet, actually. Sometime next week, we think."

"Sometime next week?" Marcia repeated in disbelief. "You expect me to give him an entire week off when his Elementary Transfiguration Practical is coming up? He still has to learn to merge elements into three more shapes and we've hardly even started on water shaping."

"Can't you just….reschedule it?" Sarah pushed a frizzy curl of hair out of her round face.

"Reschedule it?" Marcia blankly stared at Sarah Heap; did she have _any_ respect for **Magyk**, and was this a joke? "You _do_ realize that it is only possible to complete the assignment of the thirtieth day of the seventh month of his fourth year of Apprenticeship? And that if failed to comply; this could dock almost half his yearly overview points, causing him to possibly be ineligible for the position of ExtraOrdinary Wizard?"

"I didn't know." Sarah snapped, obviously losing confidence fast.

"Of _course_ you didn't." Marcia sighed. "When you've figured out a real answer come back and we'll chat."

"Mum?" A bewildered Septimus appeared behind Sarah's shoulder.

"What?" Sarah and Marcia said at the exact same time. Marcia turned a shade of red she didn't even know _existed_ as she figured out what she had just said, but thankfully Sarah hadn't heard her. Marcia didn't know how she'd ever explain _that_ one.

"Oh, hello, love." Sarah greeted, wrapping her arms around a decidedly uncomfortable Septimus. He knew rather well that Sarah Heap and Marcia Overstrand alone in her study could never mean good news.

"Mum, what're you doing here?" Septimus sounded pleased but rather suspicious.

"Just coming to make sure that your day off was alright with Madam Marcia." Sarah told him while Marcia spluttered in anger. Septimus wisely stepped back into the hallway, followed shortly by Sarah. Marcia glowered and forced herself to keep her voice at a normal volume.

"Whatever false interpretations of our conversation being told aside, Sarah, I'm very busy at the moment and can't stay to chitchat. Oh, and Septimus, make sure you brush your hair, it's getting rather tangled now."

Marcia purposefully returned to her desk along with Sarah Heap muttering to her youngest son; "Brush your hair, honestly. Who does she think she is, your mother? It looks just fine, love."

"Oh." Septimus sounded surprised. Marcia flicked her finger irritably and her door obediently slammed shut, cutting off the hushed conversation nicely so that she could focus again on her abnormally and offensively large pile of unresolved complaints.

'_Who does she think she is, your mother?_' echoed loudly through her head as she stabbed her pen a bit too forcefully on the latest criticism, accidently piercing a hole through the thin parchment. Marcia swore; her patience already expired enough that she didn't care if Septimus heard.

She couldn't help but notice with some satisfaction that this time, the complaint was about '_the EOW Apprentice's contrary mother barging around every week like she owns the Tower'_. Some things, she decided, throwing the complaint into the sort-it-out-a-little-later pile, were too satisfactory not to laugh at.

Who was Sarah Heap to tell her what to do, anyway? She thought smugly, pushing a dark curl from her forehead.

The door creaked open again and Septimus's face was suddenly crowding the space in between the door and the jamb.

"Marcia?"

"Yes?"

"Have you seen the new **Freeze Charm** you got me? I want to show it to Mum but I can't find it."

"It's on the kitchen table, Septimus." Marcia sighed. "Keep better track of your things in the future or you will be sorely disappointed, I can tell you."

"Oh. Uh, okay." He smiled tentatively at her. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Marcia smiled back.

Septimus retreated as quickly as he'd appeared and Marcia let out a silent cheer of victory.

'_Who does she think she is, your mother_,' indeed, Sarah." She scoffed. "I'd like to see you tell him where to find his **Charm**."

And then, as an afterthought as she tossed a rare compliment that was focused on Dandra Draa into the ACCOUNTED AND APPRECIATED bucket, "_Or_ his socks."

* * *

There were no words to describe the emotional state she was in, but she well enough understood that it was fear.

Her stomach was curling itself into hard knots that were painfully making her face go red and her legs were rapidly liquefying into puddles; her bones were jelly and her skin paper. A mounting pressure was building up inside her chest and a bile taste was rising up the back of her throat with astonishing speed.

This wasn't being helped by her Apprentice screaming from _right underneath her_. She could hear him, could almost feel his presence, two feet beneath her, separated by a Sealed Ice Hatch and thick tile flooring that had been installed under the watchful eye of the wretched Jillie Djinn.

She could hear him now, screaming up at her; "It's me – Septimus!"

Marcia reached for the Seal. Her Apprentice, the highly adored Septimus Heap, whom she had raised for the last four years, was going to die if she didn't take that Seal off _right this minute_.

"Stop!" Julius Pike hissed loudly, and threw himself at her as if to grab her wrist, but he hurtled through her, tripping dizzily out onto the floor.

"What?" She panicked back, talking quietly to mirror his voice.

"It is a trick." Julius picked himself off the floor. "Your Apprentice cannot possibly be back yet."

"It is not a trick!" Marcia snapped. "It is Septimus. I can **Feel** it." She was trying hard to force back panic; was Septimus already….she couldn't think the word or it would be real.

Milo stared at her. "You should go with what you feel."

Marcia was too horror-struck to be flustered.

"**Feelings**!" Julius scoffed quietly. "Huh! That old mumbo jumbo."

Suddenly, another voice floated up from underneath the door.

"Marcia! Let us in!"

"I can hear Jenna!" Milo yelled, clenching a hand painfully tight around Marcia's shoulder.

"So can I." Beetle confirmed, his voice edging into fear.

"It's an old **Darke** Trick." Julius Pike told them sternly. He seemed to be the only calm one there. Funny enough, Marcia thought despairingly, seeing as he was the only one who was dead. Julius seemed oblivious. "You hear the people you long for. That's how a **Darke Domaine** begins."

Marcia watched with a sinking feeling as Beetle's face registered this and morphed into defeat.

She froze. Julius was right, wasn't he; there was no way anyone could get through the Ice Tunnels that fast, not even Septimus.

"He's right." She whispered; her breath catching, Marcia started to panic. Because that would mean…that would Septimus had already…died.

_No!_

Marcia refused to believe it. But what else could be true, what else could be under her feet, screaming for her?

Now she could swear she heard water; rushing, roaring water, like the Moat during a storm. Tumbling water, the kind that could drown you, Marcia realized.

"Do…do you hear water?" She breathed. Please, please let it not be true.

Milo didn't seem to have heard her, staring at Julius and then the Hatch and back, looking steadily more panicked.

"I…yeah. Water." Beetle looked distraught. "You don't think…"

"He's right." Marcia repeated.

"No, he's not." Milo had stopped looking at the Hatch and Julius and was staring her down intently. "That's my Jenna out there. And your Septimus. Let them in."

Her Septimus. That sounded right, even in the midst of the mess she was in now.

"Mar…..Cee…..Aaaaaah!" The scream came out again, and this time Marcia swore another voice was with it. How many people were down there, anyway?

It sounded like….Marcellus.

"Marcia, let us in, for pity's sake!" He was yelling. "We are _drowning_!"

"That settles it!" Julius yelped triumphantly. "It _is_ the Ring Wizards. They have Marcellus hostage."

Another heart-wrenching, terrifying screech wafted through the hatch. "_Help_!"

Milo's face set suddenly. "Marcia." He said urgently, "That was Jenna. I know my child."

It sounded so right; '_I_ _know my child'_. Milo was right; Marcia had absolutely no doubts about it.

"And I know mine." She told him. "I mean, I know Septimus."

And she did.

She **UnSealed** the hatch and pulled Septimus through.


	6. Bad News, Guys

Okay, hi. Wonder here!

Here's the plan; some of you might've noticed that I haven't updated in a while. If you haven't that's cool, too; it's not that important whether you follow me or not :) But the news for today is that my update's going to be in the not-so-soon future. I don't know if I'll get around to it for a while; I'm back in hard-core physical therapy and with school starting and all...It's hard to fit writing time in. So sorry if you were really excited for an update or something; I still check for PMs and things but for a while writing's off. Sorry... :(

So if that's crushing news and such, I apologize; go read some other Fanfiction and forget that I'm a let-down! I love y'all anyways, maybe something new will appear eventually, but for while I'm out for the count on Septimus.


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